


Under the Influence

by WebbedUpKatanas



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Kinda, M/M, Not really at all, Public Sex, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 12:12:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1818037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WebbedUpKatanas/pseuds/WebbedUpKatanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, this is a sex pollen fic that is not even remotely a real sex pollen fic (aka fully consensual with not even a hint of dubcon/altered state of mind), and it’s all Wade’s fault. Also, I’m not affiliated with Ikea at all, I just needed a place with a sturdy table that I could defile. All that being said, enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Influence

Peter has never been one to back down; he’s always been the type to run headlong into a situation. Even back when he was just Peter Parker, he may have been awkward and bumbling, but he had always been willing to brave insurmountable odds to stand up for himself and others, despite the risks.

That same tenacity carried through to most other aspects of his life as well, which is why he isn’t surprised that he has thrown himself so fully into his relationship with Wade, though he was still occasionally surprised by the lengths he is willing to go for him.

Finding himself stark naked in the middle of an darkened Ikea as Wade tries to convince him of his latest flimsy excuse for sex is one of those length he hadn’t really bothered to consider.

“But really Wade, sex pollen?” he asks sceptically “Is that even a real thing? I’m pretty sure it doesn’t exist.” Despite his protests, Wade is already bent over one of the sturdiest looking tables they could find, ready to put the brand-name furniture to the test.

“Why don’t you tell that to my magically induced boner,” Wade returns, the words edged with a moan as Peter crooks his fingers inside of him.

“Listen, a bad guy threw some sparkly stuff in my face, and then BAM surprise erection. What else could it be?” When no answer is forthcoming he decides to continue (because given the choice between speech and silence Wade Wilson always chooses the louder option). “I’m seriously hurt Peter, why else would I break into an Ikea and demand you take me over a sturdy yet affordable table? Besides the obvious chance to impress you with my breaking and entering skills that is.”

“Honestly, this situation barely makes it into the top ten most interesting with you. And if you’ve been hit by sex pollen, shouldn’t our positions be reversed. Isn’t the affected party supposed to be mindlessly finding someone to, um… fuck, not begging to be bent over?”

“It’s… a very specific strain of sex pollen? Peter please. Do you want me to die?”

Peter sighs. “Well, I guess if it’s a matter of life or death. Can I at least get a kiss first?”

“No time, I’m dying to death,” Wade whines pathetically in response.

“But I like kissing you,” Peter’s voice echoes, reminding him uncomfortably of their current location. He’s not sure why he has allowed Wade to drag him here instead of home, but he has to admit there’s something thrilling about doing this in a store after closing when the various aisles are cloaked in shadow. He’s also not sure why he feels the need to push the point, but giving Wade what he wants without a struggle seems too much like surrender for him to let the argument go.

“Kissing’s great I’ll give you that, but it just so happens that I enjoy being- nay I need to be - bent over a table and fucked, so it’ll just have to wait. And don’t even pretend you don’t like me like this,” Wade wiggles his ass invitingly.

“It’s true, I do,” Peter agrees leaning forward to kiss Wade over his shoulder anyways.

“Mmm. Okay, let’s go, I’m beyond ready,” Wade whines as two of Peter’s fingers slide back in and out of him, circling his hole and slicking him up with more lube. He’s already prepared him thoroughly, but Wade’s eagerness to have any part of Peter inside him gives him a heady sense of power and makes it nearly impossible for him to stop teasing his fingers in an out of the man before him.

Peter laughs before removing his fingers fully and throwing his arms around Wade’s shoulders to kiss him again.

“Lube! Watch the lube!,” Wade shouts, batting his hand away from his chest where it has left a slick streak. He submits to the kiss turning slightly once Peter’s hand is a suitable distance away, licking at his smiling lips.

The kiss is soft and sweet, though Wade is doing his best to heat it up. When he slips his tounge into Wade’s mouth he tastes like candy, and Peter wonders momentarily if the mystery powder Wade keeps going on about wasn’t just some FunDip.

“You are the most picky sex pollen victim ever. Seriously, aren’t you supposed to be mindless with lust by now?” Peter asks, pulling back and wiping his hand off on the table with a passing moment of guilt. Ikea is probably going to have to burn the table by the time he and Wade are through with it.

“Ah but Peter, that’s assuming I wasn’t already mindless before the pollen hit,” Wade argues with a knowing smile.

Wade’s hands tangle in his hair, tilting his head back so he can mouth at the stubble on his chin, losing himself in the taste of Peter until the man’s cock slides wetly across his hip, reminding him that there are other places he wants that particular part of anatomy to go.

“Eyes. Growing dim. Can’t. Go on. Shatner. Voice.” Wade groans, flopping back down on the table.

“You’re an idiot,” Peter reminds him fondly, kissing his shoulder for good measure.

“C’mon already, bring the Peter Jr express into the station,” Wade replies cheerfully while shifting his legs wider apart.

Peter winces, but he finds his hand moving to stroke the cleft of Wade’s ass despite himself.

“If you keep saying things like that I think my dick might throw a revolt,” he mutters, his ears burning as he flushes.

“There a joke about cannonballs in there if I could just… concentrate. You’re being too distracting. What part of ‘beyond ready’ didn’t you understand,” he asks, looking over his shoulder accusingly.

Peter grins sheepishly, pulling out the three fingers he’s worked back into him. “Just wanted to be sure,” he says, pulling down his pants to free his erection.

“I’ve got three words for you: Healing. Factor,” Wade pauses awkwardly. “Bitch” he finally adds triumphantly, brandishing three fingers at him threateningly.

“Even if you weren’t the king of prep, I’d still be ready to go,” he continues. “Seriously, I’m all stretched and wet and empty here. It’s called sex pollen for a reason Pete, let’s get to the sex already.”

Peter decides not to dignify that with a response, and instead lines the head of his cock up with Wade’s entrance, rubbing against him a few times teasingly.

“Oh yeah. Last stop, let’s get everybody off,” Wade breathes as Peter sinks into him, thrusting shallowly a few times to ease into it.

“If you don’t stop I swear I’ll turn this train around,” Peter admonishes, groaning in equal measures at the tightness of Wade’s ass and how Wade has managed coerce him into joining his terrible train-themed banter.

“No stopping. We’re just getting on the right track,” he says, and sure it’s an easy joke, but you try being creative with Spider-Man’s dick up your ass. It took an impressive amount of restraint not to go for a caboose joke, but even he has some standards.

“Stop. Talking. About. Trains” Peter grunts, continuing the short slow thrusts. He thinks he might combust from the heat, and the delicious friction as he slowly edges deeper into Wade, biting his lip hard to distract from the overpowering pleasure.

“Fine. But unless you want me to start singing ‘Killing me Softly’, you better get moving back there,” Wade demands, trying to pick up the pace by thrusting back. His plan is foiled however when Peter’s hands move to grasp his waist, keeping him still.

Peter chuckles softly, grinding into him tortuously slowly, but even deeper than before, circling his hips as he sinks into the slick heat of Wade’s body.

“You suck,” Wade pants, even as he arches his back into the thrust, his eyes fluttering shut as Peter begins to pull out just as slowly.

“Oh oh, okay, gonna need a second,” Peter sighs, running his hand slowly down Wade’s spine from his neck to the base in a soothing motion when he makes a frustrated noise, reading the bumps of his scars like braille. He can see the shiver run through him at the motion, can feel it in the slight clench of the muscles around him.

“Are you seriously that close already?” Wade huffs, trying his hardest to stay still. There’s just enough a challenge in the question that it prompts Peter to thrust forward again despite the overwhelming wave of pleasure so intense it almost hurts.

Thankfully this seems to work at silencing him, drawing a strangled gasp to stem the onslaught of words. Even when he pauses again Wade remains quiet, breathing heavily with his hands clenched tightly to the edge of the table.

Reducing Wade to one word sighs and monosyllabic moans of bliss is one of Peter’s guilty pleasures. The way Wade writhes beneath him when he bottoms, huffing and straining to get him deeper inside is thrilling, and a part of him delights in pushing the Merc with a Mouth to a place beyond words, where he is so submerged in sensation that he can barely manage a sentence.

Wade sighs happily as Peter obligingly picks up his pace, until each laboured breath he huffs is edged with a moan.

“Pete, uh, right there,” he groans so loudly it’s almost a shout as Peter’s cock slides deeper into him. He slams in again, not going fast like Wade likes it but making up for it with the strength he puts behind each thrust. The table creaks in protest as he repeats his motion, eliciting a whining keen as Wade throws his head back and tries to hold himself up while his knees buckle in pleasure.

Peter knows he won’t last long, the clinging heat of Wade’s body is too much and the noises Wade is making are ratcheting his arousal up so high he’s surprised he hasn’t lost it already. He closes his eyes, focusing intently on the distinct sound of Wade’s gravely voice as he groans brokenly beneath him in a symphony of arousal. He’s too close to allow himself to luxuriate in the sounds though, especially if he wants to hear Wade climax first.

“Shh, Wade,” he soothes, reaching around to grab his cock, jerking roughly.

“You shh, jackass,” he snaps, bucking his hips into Peter’s grip, his squirming making it difficult for Peter to keep a steady rhythm.

“I can be as loud as the hell I want,” he manages after a breathy pause, his voice shaking as Peter licks a hot stripe up the back of his neck.

Pushing Wade flat against the table Peter begins to pound into him in earnest while Wade whines desperately, slamming back to fuck himself on Peter’s cock.

“Please, please, please, oh fuck pleasepleaseplease,” Wade pleads as the table groans in protest under the onslaught.

Another twist of his hand and a sharp thrust aimed just right and Wade is coming, screaming a few choice expletives into the dark and grinning weakly as they echo back at him before slumping down bonelessly on the table.

Peter grips his shoulders tight to keep himself steady as he keeps thrusting, wringing more sighs from the man beneath him. It takes a few seconds for Wade to recover before he starts pushing back into the Peter’s movements, clenching tight around him. Peter makes a strangled noise, his fingernails digging into Wade’s shoulders as he approaches the edge of orgasm.

“So close,” he pants into the wet skin of Wade’s neck, straining towards his release. It’s Wade’s hand reaching back to grab his ass, pushing him in deep that finally makes him come, his cock buried to the hilt in Wade’s ass.

“Kissing now?” Wade queries as Peter pulls out, leaning over to grab his discarded suit.

“Let me catch my breath,” Peter pants. “God, you’re good at that.”

“Oh yeah, Wade Wilson can take it like a pro!” Wade cheers before pausing. “Wait-” he manages before Peter kisses him soundly, effectively cutting him off.

“The poor table,” he laments when he pulls away, looking at the come-streaked surface guiltily.

“The table’s fine, whereas I have just been through a very harrowing experience and need some love and attention,” Wade whines petulantly, wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck.

Peter hovers inches away, so close that he can feel Wade’s breath against his lips, enticing and sending tingles of sensation through him. “Feeling better?” he asks, his eyes closing slowly and head tilting as he leans forward just a bit more so their lips are just barely pressed together.

“Much,” Wade replies huskily, just brushing the seam where their mouths are joined with his tongue.

“Who’s in here?!” a gruff voice echoes through the dark. They spring apart before their tongues can meet, Wade smiling maliciously at the horrified look on Peter’s face as he frantically gathers up Wade’s clothes, throwing them at him urgently.

By the time the unsteady beam of a flashlight shines on the ruined table there’s no sign of either man, leaving the security guard extremely confused and more than a little distressed as he wonders how to explain the come-stained table and his failure to catch the perps to his boss.

Meanwhile, caught up in the happy afterglow as they make their way home and laughing at the close call it’s impossible for Peter to imagine any long term consequences of playing along with Wade’s little sex pollen game.

It’s not until the next week, when he starts receiving a face-full of glitter every time Wade is horny (and where was it all coming from? Wade wasn’t even wearing what he referred to as his Liefeld pouches) that Peter starts to consider the value in taking a moment to think things through before he acts.


End file.
